


Inside the 4077

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Jokes, Cheating, Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: It's really just shameless Trap/Hawk porn with a slapdash of humor.





	Inside the 4077

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2018. I blame my best friend for starting up the M*A*S*H itch again.

Hawkeye thought if he borrowed Radar's glasses, he could see his dreams better—and he wanted the best possible look at Trapper's lips as Trapper's cock breached him. As Trapper used those magical surgeon's hands on him, his kisses like the driest gin.

"Hey, Hawkeye," whispered Trapper in a voice like angels on high. If angels dealt in blood and had beards and mustaches. Hawkeye was pretty sure he was gonna wake up and still be dreaming. In fact, Trapper was in the OR, taking Hawkeye's second shift, because he'd tripped over Trapper's dreamboat body and fallen in love.

Not that he'd wanted to tell Trap, his best friend and tentmate, that the sex they'd been having was causing him to want Trap to make an honest woman—er, man—out of him.

Too bad Trap was already married. And that it was illegal.

"Wake up. One of your patients is crashing," Trap said. Hawkeye mumbled; even he could tell he was incoherently begging for Trapper's dick. Apparently Trapper was immune to the kissy faces Hawk knew he was making.

"I'm dreaming that I'm in a war in Korea," Hawkeye said. "If I wake up, I'll find myself in a war in Korea."

"That's because you're in a war in Korea," Trap said, and there was the quickest caress of his army-regulation cock covered in olive drab.

"Yes, give me a quickie," Hawkeye said, mumbling again. "One for the road."

"It's a very short walk," Trapper said, "so that's all you get. Wake up, already!"

Hawkeye opened his eyes. Trapper was gone, the tent door whiffling in the breeze. Hawkeye threw on his red robe, yanked on his boots, and went off to try to save another life.

++

Exhausted, Hawkeye could only moan when the gin hit his tongue.

"Hey, Trap, my tongue is happy to see gin again, but it'd be even happier to see your tongue. They could go steady." Hawkeye leaned back and stuck out his tongue, wiggling it in Trapper's general direction. Ha, general—like in the army. "Frank's with Hot Lips, we've got time to be reacquainted."

"That moan was so adult in nature it's old enough to be drafted, Hawk," Trapper said, his usual big grin in place.

"I save all my best moans for you, you know that," Hawkeye said. "Besides, don't underestimate me. A few dirty touches and you can have moans as adult as an excellently aged bottle of gin."

"Now we're talkin'," Trapper said, getting off his cot.

Hawkeye threw open his bathrobe. "Come on in, honey, the water's fine."

"Take it off," Trap said. "I wanna see army regulation boxers, stat."

"Bring me another martini," Hawkeye said, "and you can have first crack at my army regulation gun."

"I want first crack at your crack," Trapper cracked. Hawkeye grinned outwardly as he inwardly enjoyed his joke. But then Trapper's knee was on the cot, wedged between Hawkeye's thighs, and he let his head fall back against the pillow on a groan.

"Where's my martini?" Hawk asked, giving Trapper a coy look. "Has it been drafted and gone off to war, too?"

"I'll give you plenty to drink, Hawk," Trapper said as he lowered his boxers, the head of his cock peeping out.

"Normally, I'd say I'm too old for milk, and to offer it to Radar, but in this case I'll make an exception." Hawkeye extended his hand and pushed the boxers the rest of the way down, settling the elastic below Trap's balls. Then he began to stroke Trap's dick with feathery touches up and down. Trap moaned and arched, his head leaning back, and Hawk used his other hand to caress Trapper's neck, feeling the way the muscles moved beneath his fingers as Trapper swallowed around needy moans.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna go off half-cocked," Trap mumbled, "and you won't get what you're really angling for."

"Bass? Trout? Salmon with a nice gin glaze?" Hawkeye quipped, as he moved his hand faster over Trap's cock. But Trap grabbed his wrist and stalled his movements.

"How long do you think we've got, Hawk, before Frank comes back? Or Radar comes to the tent?"

"Don't worry, honey, I locked the tent." Hawkeye's own dick throbbed, reminding him that it wasn't getting any attention. He leered at Trap's nudity. "If I didn't know better, I'd think your cock was looking for a salute."

"I'm gonna give you a four finger salute up the ass to get you ready for me," Trapper replied with a leer of his own. He kneed at Hawkeye's thighs until he let them sprawl open, then bit his lip and stared.

"What? Did I grow two heads since the last time I washed my dick in the showers?"

"Washed? More like rubbed one out even though you knew I was right there," Trap said.

"Of course you were right there. Don't you appreciate the things I do for you?" Hawk frowned. "You didn't answer my question."

"I forgot to take your fucking underwear off, okay? I think I'm drunk."

"Breathe on the shaving mirror and try to walk in a straight line. Oh wait, what do I care, as long as you're coordinated enough to fuck me. Here, lover, let me help you." Hawkeye lifted one leg, then the other, and stripped his olive drab-colored boxers off. Then he let his legs flop back down, knees bent, ass bare, his hole fluttering with the anxious desire to be filled. How often had he dreamed about this? How many times had they done this?

No matter what, it was never enough. This was an itch the nurses couldn't scratch. An operation that they couldn't assist with. Only Trapper could do it. Only Trap was enough.

"Anytime," Hawk trilled. "I wanna get impaled by something other than a bayonet before the war is over." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Unless it's _your_ bayonet, Trap."

"I'm concentratin', " Trapper said.

"It's not hard. You just—" He paused. "Well, maybe it _is_ hard, but that's the point. You catch my drift?"

"I'm gonna give you my point and everything else," Trap replied, and then there was petroleum jelly on his "point" and he was lining up deliciously, his cockhead rubbing ever so nicely against Hawk's aching hole.

"Do you promise?" Hawk asked, trying for flippant but failing when Trapper slid inside at least an inch or two. He moaned instead. Loudly.

"Try to keep a sock in it, Hawk, or else people will hear us."

"If it's a clean sock— Ah!" The rest of whatever wisecrack he was ready to unleash was lost as Trapper gave him a rubdown from the inside, his dick slippery hard steel as it punished every nerve ending. It felt so good, Hawkeye couldn't help but compare the sensation to the idea of leaving this stupid war and going home. "Can you imagine, Trap," he said, then breathed through a stroke of his insides, "what it would be like—oh my God—" Trapper groped him and fucked into him at once, "—never to have to do meatball—"

"Hawkeye. Shut up." Trap softened it with a smile, but he pushed hard into him, their bodies lining up with decadent friction. "I know your mouth is a registered weapon, but I don't need the sharp edge of it right now while I'm—"

"Calm your toenails," Hawkeye said, even as he lifted his ass and braced his feet on the floor. "I wasn't gonna make a wisecrack that time."

Trap jackhammered his hips forward, and the thrust went full throttle, making Hawk's nerves zing and his body shiver all over with pleasure. He felt loose-limbed, knees going to water, as Trap plumbed his depths over and over again, and he kept rising into it, forcing Trap deep, feeling the little ripples that washed over him.

"Inside, you're softer than Frank's courage," Trap said with a wink, though it was strained by the effort he was putting forth as he put forth inside Hawkeye. His eyes squeezed shut and he dealt Hawk another hand, this one a winning one for both of them, as Trapper shot white and hot both inside and out, onto Hawk's belly. It mingled with Hawk's own release.

"All right, now, doctor," Hawkeye said when he got his breath back, using one of his arch, supercilious tones, "throw me Frank's Bible."

"Nonsense," Trap said, altering his own voice, "that would be too scratchy for a clean up, and might result in paper cuts that I would then need to treat." He tossed Hawkeye a roll of toilet paper.

"For me? This is one of your own personal rolls. You shouldn't have."

"Take it," Trap said, as he shambled to his feet. He pulled up his boxers and stretched, even as Hawk wiped gluey come off his stomach. Some of it had splattered his shirt, so he used the corner to wipe at come as well, then sat up, stripped out of his shirt, and tossed it on the floor. It wasn't called the Swamp for nothing.

"You can always use yours to wipe come from my dick later," Trap added, then ducked when Hawkeye grabbed the soiled shirt and aimed for his head. "Hey, relax!"

"You _are_ in a war zone," Hawk said. "You should expect flying artillery. Why don't you get over here and wipe up the come now? It's dripping out of me. Though I must say, I think it improves the decor."

"I'm no interior decorator," Trapper said as he tightened the belt on his yellow robe and downed a glass of gin. "I'm not drunk enough," he added, as he allowed himself to flop onto his cot. Hawkeye finished wiping, dressed, and unlocked the tent door.

Not two minutes after he did, Frank came shuffling in, his mouth pinched.

"Hi, Frank!" they said in unison, and Frank, after adjusting his mother's photo, turned to them.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know," he snapped, then lounged onto his own cot. From outside, in the compound, the three of them heard Radar yell,

"Choppers! Wait for it…"

end.


End file.
